


The Unconventional Love

by Mu2



Series: Witcher Works [6]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ballroom Dancing, But not between main characters, Character Death, Courting Rituals, Courtship, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Very background and just referenced in the first chapter, Warlord Jaskier, mainly fluff and angst, please head the warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23854084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mu2/pseuds/Mu2
Summary: Warlord!Jaskier after setting about creating a world for witchers to be equally treated is forced to confront the fact that his vision did not quite come to fruition.A nasty rumour about him conquering the continent because a witcher spurned his attentions has cause some misunderstandings. Such misunderstandings lead to the kings he has conquered giving him gifts of witchers that they scour their kingdoms for.Our favourite witcher is given as a gift, and Warlord!Jaskier must be a force of change for this man who he has conquered the continent for.***IDK I suck at summaries. Basically Warlord!Jaskier wants to change the world because he loves Witcher!Geralt and sees him treated unfairly as witchers are.
Relationships: Eskel & Jaskier | Dandelion, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher Works [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636801
Comments: 178
Kudos: 596
Collections: Inspired by inexplicific Accidental Warlord AU, The Witcher Alternate Universes





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [With a Conquering Air](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273713) by [inexplicifics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/pseuds/inexplicifics). 



> Hello! Here's a fic I have been wanting to write ever since reading the MAGNIFICENT fic by @inexplicifics. If you haven't given it a read please do so! Link below:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273713/chapters/55736329

It was well known across the continent that Jaskier the Conqueror had a love for witchers. 

There had been a rumour circling during the wars that the reason for Jaskier the Great’s campaign was due to his desire for the witchers. A vicious rumour spread that a witcher had rebuked his attentions and deciding that he wouldn’t stand for it conquered the continent in search for him.

For one did not go after a witcher alone if they were a simple man. An army would be needed if they were to meet other witchers or resistance. And witchers would always resist the desires of man unless there was enough coin in it.

Despite this it was well known that witchers, though they would take your coin, were not whores. Jaskier the Bard would not have the witcher as a conquest. Therefore, he needed to conquer the entire continent to locate and eradicate the witcher.

Jaskier himself did not know of the rumours and whispers. He was too busy planning how to keep the land he and his army had acquired. They would need mages for the next phase, ensuring that the kings remained under his command.

This would be, he thought, an issue, for during the war many mages, magic folk and witchers had retreated from public spaces. Hiding away from the battles of man, not willing to fight for or against Jaskier. So, it was reasonable to assume that they would be hard to locate and find.

Not two weeks into his reign a battered mage was delivered to him by a well-meaning state. The next few days they arrived in groups. Each king worried that the new Emperor would favour another.

Jaskier didn’t know what to do with these battered mages. Men, women, those who identified as neither, and children dropped at his doorstep like dead birds from a cat. Grotesque and horrifying for the unsuspecting owner.

Then the dead mages were delivered. Immediately Jaskier decreed that any and all mages were to be delivered unharmed and _alive_ if a king expected to earn his favour.

Any and all mages were immediately taken into his citadel to be treated. It was rough going at first, healing the mages without magic.

Most immediately distrusted the healers and guards. Not trusting that they were there to help, not to keep them in. Slowly Jaskier showed that they were permitted to leave. They would need to be relocated to remote areas, due to the kings and lords hunting magic folk, but they need not be locked in the citadel. Very few took this offer, and those that did, despite relocation to the furthest corners, eventually ended back on his doorstep, on the brink of death. They did not leave the citadel again.

Similar happened with other magic folk after the kings stopped finding mages, stopped finding those that he sent free from the citadel. Elves, sylvans and a whole range of others were delivered instead. Always outside, after the very first mage was brought to Jaskier’s ballroom, paraded for all to see, Jaskier had closed his doors to those who did not have express permission to enter. None of the current kings or other important members of state outside of his council and army were permitted to enter.

Slowly the citadel filled, once empty, after the initial sacking by Jaskier’s army.

Everything was slow to build. Houses, buildings, trust. But Jaskier built connections, took time to see his people, for these _were_ his people. Their position or original status didn’t matter to him. Within his citadel he had members of the Brotherhood, mages who counselled kings and emperors before he was even born, but he treated all equally. 

Then, they started sending him witchers.

***< p/>

The witchers were somehow in worse condition to the other magic folk delivered to the citadel. They were stripped of everything, clothing, their swords and the medallions that marked them as witchers.

Though they were stripped of their usual identifiers they could not be mistaken as mere mortal men. Scars criss-crossed every corner of skin, stretching across their bodies as a painful map of their lives. None but a witcher would be able to survive those wounds.

With the assistance of his healers, now with mages and other magic folk, the witchers were treated well and efficiently. 

The very first witcher, Lambert of the School of Wolf, was a handful. Jaskier would argue he was worth every handful of the people he commanded. And he commanded quite a lot.

Lambert swore and attacked any who ventured near him, save some mages whom he recognised. It took months of discussion and conversation for the man to allow Jaskier to speak with him. Even then Lambert had requested that there be no guards privy to the conversation.

Despite the risks, of his death or injury to his person, Jaskier agreed only if his First Mage, Yennefer of Vengerberg and his Second Mage, Triss Merigold, be allowed to attend.

The meeting went as planned, as soon as his guards had left Lamberts hearing range, which was long hearing, the witcher had pinned Jaskier in a chokehold intent on killing him. What Lambert hadn’t intended for was for the two women to attack him in turn, restrain him and protect the new Warlord from him.

That was the moment Lambert actually started listening to Jaskier and those around him in the citadel.

Any and all following witchers delivered to Jaskier, enough that Jaskier was overwhelmed by just how many there were, were first introduced to Lambert. He acted as Jaskier’s liaison to the injured witchers that came to the citadel.

Soon the citadel was renamed by its inhabitants, the city was named Harmonia. And Harmonia truly was a place of harmony, the inhabitants lived equally, started businesses and families and lived peacefully.

Witcher, mages, elves, Jaskiers men, all lived together in a peaceful coexistence.

At least until the White Wolf, most notorious of witchers, was gifted to Jaskier. 

***

By the time the White Wolf was sent to the Conqueror, Jaskier had already met others of the School of Wolf. Lambert and Eskel were amongst the first that had been sent to Harmonia and sat on his council. There were three representatives from each of the peoples of Harmonia.

Jaskier’s favourites of his council were Triss, Yennefer, Eskel, Lambert and an elf named Filavandrel who shared a similar love of music as Jaskier did.

Though several members had had some contact with the White Wolf, those being witchers or older mages who had worked with him, Jaskier wasn’t quite prepared to face the foreboding witcher. Both due to personal history and what Jaskier had heard about during and after the war.

For there was usually a grain of truth in rumours. Yes, Jaskier did start a war over a witcher, but he did not do it because the White Wolf rejected him, quite the opposite really. After playing at an inn that had a kikimora issue, Jaskier the Bard had been followed outside by a group of men who meant him ill.

As they were going to lay upon him a witcher, still covered in the gore of the monster he had just slain, set about killing more monsters, the ones reserved for steel. He'd used his silver sword though, for silver always works on monsters of any variety, and saved the then bard.

In that moment Jaskier the Bard recognised the inherent evil in the world he lived in. It had lurked at the edge of his consciousness since he was young, as it did for everyone, but it had been on the edge, he hadn’t confronted it truly. Now though, with the evidence that the witcher who saved him from monsters, saved all from monsters, was going to walk into the same inn he had played for, and was going to be spit upon, reviled and treated like those that had been about to harm Jaskier, the Conqueror awoke.

No man, woman or child, no one who tried to ensure others safety and health, should be treated in such a way. None.

So Jaskier the Bard had given the witcher his earnings for the night, as well as his room in the quite lovely whorehouse down the street, and saddled his horse immediately to set off.

He found those of like mind, quite a few young heirs, heiresses and people in power. They banded together, under one banner, and decided to make a difference. They started with that town that Jaskier had met the White Wolf, the witcher who had changed the fate of the continent, and made their way outwards. 

Ultimately, despite no longer being Jaskier the Bard, the man who the White Wolf had saved from being raped and brutalised, Jaskier was in no way prepared to face the witcher who he was undoubtedly and irrevocably in love with.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier confronts the men that give Geralt as tribute, and shows exactly why he is a 'War'lord

When the White Wolf was brought before Jaskier by his men there was an immediate cry of outrage from all witchers in the room. Each looked upon the beaten body and recoiled.

Even those who had been badly injured to be presented to Jaskier, despite his decrees to bring any tributes unharmed, hadn’t been stripped or humiliated as the White Wolf had been.

Jasker suspected it wasn’t the wounds that caused the other witchers gathered to echo the White Wolf’s sure agony. It would be the missing swords and medallion. All who had been brought had at least had one on their person or left with them. The White Wolf had neither.

He was stripped down, wounds on display, hair shorn to his scalp and appeared barely lucid. Despite these facts yellow cat eyes stared at Jaskier, transfixing the Warlord. 

Blood seeped down the sides of the witchers face from his ears. His original captors had probably released a sound to deafen the witcher and make him confused during the inevitable fight. 

Looking at him Jaskier could almost see it like a play. Release the sound, deafen him, it would also serve to confuse him. It also would have been in the early morning with enough light so that his eyes weren’t at an advantage. They would have come from all angles, the cut and bruise on his right eye show that someone had either punched or kicked him down. He must have been asleep or in a bedroll when they captured him.

Other marks showed abuse on the journey. The shackles, dimeritium to ensure he wouldn’t escape with aid of Signs, were too small for his wrists and ankles to be comfortable. They’d chafed the underlying skin, causing welts and small cuts. Whip marks appeared across his entire back, fresh and painful. He’d been made to walk to Harmonia by those who had left him.

Beaten, shackled and abused on his way to Jaskier’s doors.

“Are the entourage still within our reach?” He enquired of his battlement battalion, eyes never leaving the chained Wolf on his floor.

“Yes Warlord. They insisted on waiting for you to witness the tribute before they left. The king was under the assumption that he would be rewarded for his efforts.” 

“Bring them all in. Every one of them unless they are too young to be held accountable for this.”

Eskel and Lambert approached him as the battalion left to collect the fool king’s entourage. “Can he be taken for healing?” Eskel asked of Jaskier.

Turning from the white haired witcher Jaskier spoke to Eskel, “Moved but not taken,” to his guards he addressed, “Gather any healers available, as well as a cot and whatever the healers will need.”

When they too left, Jaskier approached the beaten witcher. His steps were purposeful, as were his hands as he removed any effects on his person that could be considered a weapon, dropping them on his way. 

Crouched before the White Wolf Jaskier sought to remove the muzzle, “If I take these off,” a gesture to the shackles and muzzle, “I need some sort of promise you won’t immediately try to kill me.” He spoke slowly, trying to make it easier for the witcher to watch his mouth if his hearing hadn’t yet recovered.

Given the nod that he got in return Jaskier counted it a success. Carefully he removed the muzzle first, probably stupid to do for a wolf, and waited until he got a second nod to start on the shackles. Even freed the White Wolf held himself still and didn’t move.

At least he did, until Eskel and Lambert appeared behind Jaskier. Then he was in the middle of a witcher pile up as they rushed forward to embrace one another. They only parted at the delicate cough given by the healer, Triss Merigold, who had been summoned.

“Ah, Triss. This is the newest addition to our rag tag team; I need to know what was done to him exactly before you actually heal him.”

It was standard of Jaskier to ask how the tribute was injured before healing. This was so that the healers of the mind, or when previous family and friends came to visit, all knew the boundaries or possible mental hurts to avoid.

The White Wold allowed himself to be escorted by his brothers to the cot placed near the throne. He took the entire thing up just by sitting on it but appeared more relaxed as he sunk onto the thin mattress. With the hands of his brothers on his shoulders he allowed Triss to run her hands, coated with her magic and filling the air with its metallic scent, along his body.

Quite valiantly Triss listed off the pains as she came across them; “Concussion, minor damage to the ears; both, meaning he can’t hear properly. Dislocated shoulder, a cut and bruise to his temple, the leg was broken and healed incorrectly. I’ll need to re-break it to set it right. No trauma to his lower extremities apart from the leg. Most of the damage is to his back, lashes are healing quite nicely, but aren’t something we can’t hurry along with some help.”

“How many lashes?”

She didn’t even hesitate to tell him, “Thirty-four. They would have killed a lesser man.”

"Do we know what type of whip wa-"

The morbid discussion was brought to a close with the battalion head returning and announcing to the room, “Presenting the entourage who brought the White Wolf, King Oszukać and his family.”

Oszukać appeared around Jaskier’s fathers age, which presented several problems. One; the son’s, two of them, standing with him were all Jaskier’s age or thereabouts. Two; this would mean they would remember what he’s about to do, and, consequently: Three; they could and most likely would want revenge.

“Might I ask whose idea it was to pay the witcher as tribute?” It was a neutral question, not yet threatening.

King Oszukać gestured to his second son, dressed in blinding whites and golds, “My second son. He came across the witchers trail and suggested we bring him to you.” 

Addressing the second son Jaskier asked, “Did you develop the method of capture as well?”

“Yes Warlord. We came upon him in the morn, stunned and apprehended him quickly. No additional harm was caused except for the cut and bruise due to a guard knocking him out.” The second son was smart, he’d already seen where Jaskier’s line of questioning was going.

“And the transport?”

The first son stepped up along with King Oszukać, pride pouring off them, “Knowing your distaste for witchers we wished for him to be brought to you in a manner that would please you. We also wanted to make sure that he couldn’t escape from us easily.”

“And what gave you the impression I liked my tributes on the brink of death? The last to be presented to me this way was my First Mage Yennefer. I made sure in my first decree to specify I didn’t like my tributes brutalised. Didn’t I, Yennefer?”

His First Mage stepped out of a portal to his left, “I certainly remember you doing so. Bruised and a little battered you understood, but brutalised, no. I don’t quite recall the punishment, do you Eskel?”

The Second Witcher approached from behind Jaskier, “Why I do First Mage, all who participated in the hurt of the tribute shall have the same done unto them, triple fold.”

Realisation came across King Oszukać and his sons faces. They’d claimed all pains of the White Wolf to be their doing, and already the injuries the witcher had would kill anyone else. Triple that would see them dead for sure.

“Your second son,” Jaskier gestured to the white clad prince, “Will inherit your lands and treat them well. Please, _rest_ assured that your kingdom is in better hands than your own.”

Immediately Eskel and Lambert had the protesting king and first son by the scruff of their necks and dragged them from the room.

“Are there conditions of my inheritance Warlord?”

“I would have your name before I say any of them.”

“Mądry, Warlord, that is my name.”

“Fitting, both yours and your father names. Well Mądry you’re to report directly to me here once a year with tribute. It’s never to be a beaten witcher again. Never to be a beaten _being_. If you so desire to assist Harmonia and its message of peace, Eskel will give you a letter to give any ‘potential’ tributes to ask them to peacefully arrive here. Also, should any refuse you are to assist them in their relocation and safety.”

“Have there been many you have had this conversation with?” _Yes, his name suits him well._

“Yes, there have been.”

***

After seeing the Warlord deal with the family that brought him to the citadel Geralt was stunned. Coen, a Griffon, talked him through what was being said and happening, all through hand signals witchers use when they’re suffering side effects of a potion or injury. Or when they need to be silent, unfortunately that was the primary reason for the sign language used.

Some of the effect of the scene was lost due to the method not having full translatable abilities, but Geralt understood most of it. The Warlord had taken those who had cause him pain and sentenced them to death. Took Geralt’s side unconditionally and so had everyone who stood beside him.

From the looks of things this was something that had happened before. Geralt, who had only heard that his fellow witchers were being hunted for the man, had assumed the worst when he was being dragged to the citadel.

From torture to death he had been prepared. Not for kindness though, which was surely what the Warlord was showing him.

More kindness than any, outside witchers, had shown Geralt of Rivia.

***

Lambert was continually shocked as he visited Geralt over the next week in the medical wing. The lack of long white hair a constant surprise, as well as the missing medallion. 

Though Lambert was the First Witcher of Harmonia, the first to be sent as tribute, he could say with certainty that he himself hadn’t been in such bad shape as Geralt was. 

The healers, both magical and otherwise, insisted that Geralt remain in bed for a week minimum. They had experience with witchers already so none of the witchers, save Geralt, protested the weekly stay. Many visited the injured Wolf, ranging from the Cats to Griffons, all showed to see Geralt of Rivia confined to the same bed they had been. 

This method of visitation was already ritual for any who had stayed in Harmonia. Members of their own kind (or School) would come to speak to them about their options under Jaskiers rule. Explaining the vision of Harmonia and that they needn’t be part of it. Visitors also talked about the ones who had chosen to leave Harmonia.

Since the first groups there had been higher success rates of relocation. However, only seventy percent or so remained hidden for long. The thirty percent that was found was usually either killed on site or brought back to Jaskier.

It was always dangerous being magic folk, but until Jaskier successfully conquered the outer reaches of to North and South, it was a perilous time.

The Warlord had drafts of lands and laws for the protection and equalising of magical rights. Though they were a ways off from achieving their goals, all in Harmonia knew that Jaskier was good on his word. None had any doubts that he would see the war through and would assist them in their plight afterwards.

It was the last day of Geralts bed confinement when Eskel and Lambert took their proposal to him. The proposal was of their own making and they intended to, with Geralt’s permission, ask their Warlord to grant Geralt permission to join the lower council. Lambert, Eskel and Coen were the Three Witchers of the Warlord, but there were others beneath them that assisted. The Wolves wanted their brother close and safe after his ordeal.

They just needed to convince the man that he could trust Jaskier.

***

A sad looking White Wolf was presented to Jaskier not a week after he met the man. The witcher looked like a sad silk trader in the clothes the tailor had put him in.

Most who came to the Warlords court had their own clothes in some form which the tailor would use as reference for the wardrobe they built for the new member.

The White Wolf however, had arrived with not a stitch on him and clearly the tailor had tried to create something along the lines of what Lambert would wear. The clothes did not suit the White Wolf however and only served to make him look paler and more gaunt than he was.

Both his First and Second Witchers were either side of the man and petitioning Jaskier to allow for their brother to be part of the extended witcher council. 

Jaskier wanted to hear the request from the White Wolf himself but wouldn’t abuse his power over the situation just to hear him speak.

“Of course. He won’t be able to be one of the Three, but you can use him on your council. Ask my chamberlain to find a spare room, or offer him one in your wing, I don’t mind. If you wish White Wolf, you may attend the Third’s Council tomorrow and get to see what you’re getting yourself into. If you don’t like it or want to pursue a different avenue that is also permissible.” 

_And rip my heart out that you wish not to be near me. But I will survive as I have with the snippets I hear of you._

“Thank you.” The two words husked out between parched lips made the entire war effort and all Jaskiers hardships seem somehow worthwhile.

 _No, thank_ you _for you will be the death of me and my heart._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUESTION TIME WITH MU2: You get to change ONE things about the Witcher, what do you change?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt talks about his start in Harmonia with Jaskier

Geralt did not appreciate the new clothes that he was put into. Though they were a step up from what he had been wearing the past week, they weren’t his usual style of clothing.

Nothing would feel good until he was comfortably back in armour. 

After his own was stripped from him he hadn’t felt in control or comfortable. 

So he made do with what was given to him. The fine silken and cotton shirts, soft leather breeches, doublets that constricted his movement and emphasised his physique. 

The latter, the flattering of his physique, was what made him most wary of the city and its people. 

Though Eskel and Lambert, amongst others he’d conversed with since his arrival, had assured him that the Warlord was not one to take his subjects to bed, the fact that all who filled the city wore revealing clothing or were beautiful did not escape his attention. The primary reasons for this thought process were the sorcerers. No matter their gender they wore clothing that was more slits and skin than actual fabric.

He hated that he’d noticed, but noticed he had, that Eskel and Lambert also wore tighter fitting clothing. Their clothes moulded to their bodies and judging by the appraising looks they gave one another these outfits wouldn’t be changing any time soon.

“Coin for your thoughts, Witcher?” The Warlord’s councils had broken for a lunch, many went to the trays of food outlaid for the members, but Geralt had left to the balconies for the air. He’d anticipated that the Warlord would also have been to busy with food to notice his absence, clearly, he was mistaken.

“You needn’t a coin for my thoughts Warlord, only need to ask.”

“Well then, may I know your thoughts White Wolf?”

Geralt sighed, looking outward to the city below, “I do not like my clothes.”

The Warlord looked surprised, “Are they not comfortable?” There was a tone of concern, the Warlord looked as though he were about to strip his own clothes off his back to offer to Geralt. 

“No, they’re functional. But after – after being brought here nothing but the idea of my armour and sword seem to provide safety.” Another sigh, “Your courtiers and people all dress with a style speaking of a lavish lifestyle. Their eyes rove with the intent to look, that more than anything is what makes the city feel unsafe.”

***

The White Wolf felt unsafe in his city because of his clothes and his trauma. Though Jaskier could not help with the latter, the Witcher’s brothers would be of better use there, he could assist with the former. 

Immediately after the closing of the meeting Jasker had pulled aside the limited Wolf Witcher’s he had. When questioned they enthusiastically laid out details of the Wolf armour and gave opinions on how to make it better and more durable. Afterwards all nine of the Witcher’s departed happily with promises of new armour when the leathermakers had time to spare. They also left to inform the other Schools that if they wished for Witcher armour then they just needed to talk to the Warlord.

The leathermakers and those involved with the armour making process promised that after they had the correct measurements the pieces would be ready within a week. Measurements were requested from the White Wolf’s tailor and delivered speedily to the armoury.

“Now my Lord, what colour do you wish it to be dyed?”

_Knew I was forgetting something._

***

Slowly Geralt’s wardrobe was filled with bulkier and less form fitting clothing. The breeches were still tight enough for practicality, but were no longer constricting, similar with his shirts and doublets. He knew that the work could only have been at the Warlords request and didn’t know how to thank the man.

All members on the council were able to request of the Warlords time, but few were brave enough to use the opportunity. This group of brave individuals did not include Geralt. There had been no natural opportunities for him to speak to the Warlord, nor did he feel up to requesting his time. So, Geralt was at a standstill, waiting for a time to speak to the Warlord.

“Master Witcher, Warlord Jaskier requests permission to enter your rooms to speak with you.” Came the muffled announcement through his door.

Stalking to the door and wrenching it open Geralt startled to see the Warlord along with half a dozen men outside his door. The men had a large box carried between them and stood a fair bit away from the entrance to his room. None of the people here were armed or had armour on, everyone appeared to be dressed as casually as possible to appear non-threatening.

“The Warlord has my permission,” He stepped aside to let the Warlord into his room, to his curiosity the men dropped the box at the entrance to his room, bowed to the Lord and left. 

“Might I implore you’re help in bringing it in? I didn’t want to bring more people than necessary into your space.” _He’s being cautious because of what we spoke of._ Geralt didn’t know how to feel about that.

Without a word Geralt lifted the box, which was quite heavy, even for a Witcher, and carried it into his room. 

“I may just be a Witcher, but even I know of the story of Troy Warlord.”

***

_He thinks I am here to trick him. This is not going to plan A, so time for plan B._

“I would never assume anything about you, other than that you’re a Witcher and can most likely defeat me with one hand tied, blinded and with a blocked nose. Other than that, I take everything else at face value.” 

“Then what have you brought me today if not a wooden horse.”

Jaskier walked over to the box and rapped on it, “How about I raise you a wooden box, rather than horse.” With deft fingers he unlatched the hinges and allowed for the top and sides to fall away. Inside was the armour that he’d commissioned for the Witcher, left undyed, a mixture of dark and light leathers, amongst other specifications given by the Witcher’s. “It may not be the exact armour, though I have made a request for its return, but I believe it will suffice.”

The White Wolf approached it slowly, and reverently touched the armour. With practiced hands he unbuckled the armour from it’s perch and immediately put it over his clothing. The measurements of the tailor proved correct, for when he was fully inside the armour it fit perfectly. 

Or as perfectly as Jaskier could judge by looking at the Witcher. “What’s the verdict White Wolf, does it suit?”

“Mine was black.”

_Dammit._

“But I feel that this is better for now.”

***

A week of Geralt walking around in the armour and Lambert had pulled him aside, hand on his shoulder and said, “You need to wash it. We’re not on the Path and I can _smell_ you Geralt. Wash it. Wear the other one for once.”

It was in that moment that Geralt learned that the Warlord had commissioned at least two sets of armour for any and all who requested or required them. If they wanted more it was expected that they source their own leather and materials for the additional sets. 

The ‘other one’ was identical to the one that he’d been wearing and sleeping in. Identical save for the engraved wolfs head that was placed between where his collarbones were. The detail in the head could have only come from who had seen the medallions that Witcher’s wore and meant that one of his kin had volunteered theirs to be copied.

***

Jaskier was going to keep avoiding the several Witcher’s that were cranky with him. He’d asked for one medallion from each School for casting so that in future they may have adornments or other items placed on their armour. When they’d all grumbled, he’d been sneaky and taken impressions when they were either asleep or knocked out after training. 

As such he now had reference for his staff, tailors, jewellery makers the works, to use for his Witcher’s. 

Though he’d been assured from a tear stained Eskel that the others wouldn’t harm Jaskier, nor were they upset with him after seeing the results in their armour and clothes, the Warlord wasn’t willing to put his neck on the line. 

Avoiding his Witcher’s soon came to an end though, given that the meeting he needed to attend would have both Witcher councils present. 

So far the only upside of the meeting, Jaskier reminisced as he sat at the meeting table, was that he may be able to see his Witcher. The man hadn’t asked to be removed from the Witcher council and had been submitting reports and opinions on the matters brought up at meetings.

 _Scratch that, today is a wonderful day._ Thought Jaskier as he saw the White Wolf _stride_ into the room, armour donned and hair nicely starting to grow out. 

He’d chosen the Wolf’s head armour to wear for the meeting. Jaskier had heard that most of the Witcher’s wore the armour with their Schools medallions more often than not. They appeared to only take off the amour to swap it with any others because the armour needed washing. Not that Jaskiers nose or eyes could tell him that the armour needed cleaning. _Delicate Witcher sensibilities._ He wouldn’t say it out loud, nor would any of the other occupants of Harmonia, but it was a consensus that the Witcher’s had delicate noses, meaning that everyone who was not a Witcher tried to be extra clean when they knew they were to be interacting with a Witcher.

A poor guard had been dressed for a night with her lover, only to be assaulted by the loud protests and sneezing of several Witcher’s. They’d come back from a training session and commented that the woman had poorly chosen perfume and that _they_ wouldn’t go to dinner with _anyone_ who smelt that strongly. The poor lass had immediately run back to her rooms, scrubbed her skin red and returned to her waiting spot. Ever since she had refused to wear perfumes or makeup.

Don’t even get Jaskier started on why no-one, not even the whores of the city, wore cosmetics anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> QUESTION TIME WITH MU2: Anyone doing college/uni/school RN? If you are please know that my heart, the heart of a third year Finance & Accounting Major, goes out to you during these times <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harmonia is having a ball, and it has its residents in a flurry to achieve an invite.
> 
> Geralt included.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: allusions to potential sexual assault, also graphic depictions/mentions of violence.
> 
> This is in reference to how Geralt came to Harmonia and is mainly in the italicised section and the section immediately after it. If these are sensitive topics for you please be aware.
> 
> Nothing is too explicit, I hope, but I wanted to warn people.

Jaskier felt as though he was ruling over a group of headless chickens. Headless chickens that had, for some unknown reason, been allowed into positions of power and governance.

The councils within Harmonia were collaborating with him and his generals for the war efforts. Both the Thirds and their extended councils speaking freely with Jaskier and his generals. Secret settlements were revealed so that they would either be avoided, protected or evacuated as the front lines continued to move. 

His generals on the front lines were cooperative as well. None protested that the chosen ones for Harmonia were elves, mages, Witchers and a manner of all others. Their brothers, sisters and companions in arms were taken to Harmonia for healing, transported to and from by portals. They would never begrudge the safety of those who needed it, especially not when they were so vital to the campaign of peace.

It was the kingdoms and countries that he took over that were the issues. The rulers of these lands flatly refused or were dismissive of the laws and rules Jaskier put into place. 

Despite outlawing the marriages of children to other children or adults the leaders of his lands had them in secret or hid them. Tributes were still delivered weekly to Harmonia, beaten and battered individuals or groups left at the gates. 

There were only so many hangings, executions and killings he could stomach. Only so many messages or warnings he could issue to keep these people in line.

Soon more drastic measures would need to be put into place. These couldn’t occur, however, until he had all the necessary settlements and states in place.

Estimates revealed that within a year and a half Jaskier should have the all the lands that he’d set out to conquer, and then some. He’d had to be careful during the mapping out of his realms, not wanting to poke at the Nilfgaardians or their closest allies. He could only go so far North or South.

It was better to conquer and protect what he had than risk all he had under his care for greed.

***

“There’s to be a ball,” A titter of excitement ran through those gathered, the pages and performers of the streets who would break the announcement to the masses. “The first of many, and I ask your patience as we sort out those who will attend this one and those that come after.”

Since there was no true hierarchy within Harmonia meetings, festivals and balls were usually governed by a specific group attending. One could be grouped by species, age (though that was tricky given the inhabitants of the citadel) and time they arrived at Harmonia.

“This shall be a mixed ball, meaning that it will not be organised with our usual groupings. There shall be a select number of invites available for each species, and a competition of sorts to win one.” More excited noise followed the announcement, this would mean that they would join with others, with those they had not yet seen at a function.

“Given our Lords proclivities for music and the arts we ask that those who wish to attend compose or create something along the same vein. This will be presented to impartial judges and invitations awarded to those who win. _Now_ , we ask that you limit to one entry per individual. If you wish to attend and have two children with your partner or under then they too are able to attend with you,” Gasps of happiness. “You will be able to attend with a limit of three others. This includes your partners, children or others you wish to attend with. The competition begins tomorrow midday and will end within the fortnight. We wish you luck.”

***

Harmonia was abuzz with the news of a ball, of which the best artists or creators would be able to attend. Already the tailors of the citadel were at work, metal workers pulling from their finest stock, and composers wracking their brains for something to use and present to Jaskier, not the Warlord, but the Bard.

***

“We don’t have to attend, do we?” Geralt thought it necessary to clarify with Eskel.

The smile and hum of amusement from his brother did not reassure him. “All council members, no matter the event must attend.”

“I haven’t entered the competition.”

“We win by default.”

***

To Geralt it felt wrong to attend something which so many were slaving away for the chance to go. Walking the streets with Yennefer or his brothers showed that shops were closed or had reduced hours so that they may work on their pieces. 

There was nothing he could create or compose for the entry of the ball. Yet he had been given an invitation on the day of the competitions beginning, creamy paper with golden foiling. For all that the invitation and envelope was light it felt leaden in his hand.

It was a situation where he wished that he had Vesemir to confide in.

***  
As a Witcher it was useful to know several languages, both to read, write and verbally converse. Being the task master he was, Vesemir had ensured that all who were under his care would know as many as he could cram into their heads. This, in addition to the Signs and regular training was especially gruelling. It came in useful though when a Witcher needed specific herbs and knew the names of them in all the languages currently surviving.

Geralt himself knew several languages, ranging from dead ones to current Nilfgaardian dialects, which were very much an alive language. But, as Geralt was figuring out, knowing didn’t mean being able to communicate.

The rules of the competition were very open, and Geralt wanted to earn his place (though he did not wish to attend). So, he’d thought to compose a story or poem.

Everything he had written so far was vaguely threatening or just vague.

“What would Vesemir advise?” He muttered to himself. 

_A report._

A report on what he had seen or done that would assist other Witchers. Potions that worked due to a particular beast or wound. Anything that could give the next Witcher an edge on what another had faced.

_A report on what though? The only thing I have seen or faced that would help another Witcher was -_

***

Predictably it was the Mages who entered the competition first and fiercely. Wonders beyond the minds of mortals were presented to Jaskier and his chosen panel. Though he could not witness everything, he did have the final say on potential winners.

So far Jaskiers favourite was that of a necklace that a young sylvan had made. To all others it was a monstrosity of feathers, beads and animal bones. Jaskier saw the intent behind it though, being a pervious and current troublemaker; to confuse the adults as to its meaning. Art didn’t need to have a meaning and the young sylvan knew this. So as to continue the rouse Jaskier had overruled his panel and invited them and three others of their choice to the ball. He couldn’t wait to see what they wore to it.

There had been an equal amount of entries, and of equal talent from the other demographics of his city. Except for the Witchers. 

Barely any of them had participated and the entries seemed confused as to what ‘art’ or ‘creation’ was. A few had written reports and added in diagrams of beasts or monsters (which Jaskier made a mental note to request more of). Others had entered what appeared to be first goes at paintings, metal work and clothing.

It felt cruel to judge them to the usual standard. All had been presented to Jaskier for there would be twenty positions available for the Witchers and only eight had participated.

Then came _the_ report. 

_The Capture of an Individual Witcher_

***

_There were no less than twenty-three of them. I had been careless as to hiding myself and trail after a contract nearby. Given that none of the townsfolk were as openly hostile I had believed that there was no immediate danger from them. This was no excuse to not disguising myself better or my movements._

_A device was used to disorientate me, producing a loud sound that both took out my hearing and served to awake me. Upon reflection they would have used a magical device of some sort, one that they would have been immune to or had a charm that would make them immune._

_They systematically restrained me after an individual broke my leg and bludgeoned my head. There were shackles prepared for a Witcher capture, not necessarily mine as they were too small. Whilst I was concussed, they stripped me of my clothing, armour and weapons. As well as my medallion._

_Along the journey to Harmonia food was withheld, but not water. They need the captive alive but not in good condition._

_Though they spoke of rewards they may receive from Warlord Jaskier they were executed for the whippings and damage they had done to my persons._

_From these events I would advise the following:_

_1\. Do not travel alone or within well populated areas  
2\. Precautions should be taken to hide one’s identity as a Witcher  
3\. Trust in the Warlords armada, not his conquered states  
4\. Travel to Harmonia for either relocation or safety_

_People are hunting Witcher’s and we should not make it easy for them. They are searching for a Witcher whom angered the Warlord but having known him I can say with conviction that he did not start this hunt. However, he will help us in finishing it._

***

Barely three-hundred words and Jaskier felt as though the walls of Harmonia were crumbling around him. His Witcher’s were brought to him because someone had started a _fucking rumour_. They were not tributes the way the others of Harmonia were, they were meant to be killed or made to be _playthings_ of Jaskiers.

Immediately Jaskier called a page and asked that those of the Witcher councils be summoned to his rooms.

***

No one had been invited into the inner rooms of the Warlord. This was both because of practicality and because Jaskier was a romantic. Those who knew him knew that he would not take someone to his bed without romance, and they knew he was already in love.

With who they did not know.

So, it came to everyone’s surprise when the Witchers of the councils were summoned to said rooms. “No, it’s not normal. No, I don’t know why we’re being summoned.” Eskel barked at Geralt when they joined to walk to the Warlords rooms.

Upon entering they noticed that they were the last to arrive. Seven Witchers were present to hear what had the Walord up at the witching hour.

“It has been brought to my attention that Witcher’s are being brought as a different type of tribute to Harmonia.” The Warlord was met with low grumbles. “I’d like more information on it please.”

‘You mean you didn’t know?” Lambert spoke up, arms crossed and standing at the nearest doorway. They were all dressed in their night clothes, not the best for feeling secure or in case of attack.

“No, and I apologise for whatever started this.”

Coen took the lead, having the most experience with his captors and why he was being brought to Harmonia. “The only information that we know is that you were supposedly slighted by a Witcher. They would not lay with you, and that because we are a difficult prey, you needed to conquer to find the Witcher. That’s why we are hunted specifically, rather than captured by happenstance like others.”

Seeing the shocked look on the Warlords face, as well as the panic those in the room had their suspicions confirmed; it wasn’t because a Witcher had spurned his affections. Jaskier was not behind their being hunted.

“I would never – I didn’t – please believe that I have never wanted to cause harm to any Witchers.”

A Viper stepped forward, “We knew that to begin with. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t already know.”

“You want to spread peace,” Coen soothed “And we will follow that.”

“But I did start all this because of Witchers,” All the Witchers took a step away from the Warlord “Not because I wanted anything _from_ you, but _for_ you.”

“I apologise My Lord, but I do not follow.”

Jaskier looked to Geralt, then the room at large, “Geralt assisted me some time ago, when I was a travelling bard. For no coin or glory he saved me from being gutted for my boots. Then he went into the tavern I had vacated and was treated with scorn for completing a contract.”

Blue eyes pleaded with those in the room, “ _Completing it_. For doing what was agreed upon. He took the coin they _would_ give him and didn’t threaten or injure anyone. I didn’t want to be part of a world that did that. So, I decided to find others who didn’t want to either.”

“Why not before? What made Geralt special?” A heavily scarred Bear spoke up.

“It’s not because he was _Geralt_.” The steady pressure in Geralt’s breast eased slightly. “He was the first Witcher I had come across, and he assisted me. I’d heard of what was done, but not _known_. Unfortunately, in my case ‘seeing is believing’.”

“If it had been me, would you have gone on the same course?” Eskel asked of Jaskier.

“I admit that the effect of monster blood and his bulk added to my fascination of Witchers, but yes Eskel. If it had been a Witcher who saved me, then expected no return, and allowed the village to treat him so, I would have stayed on this course.”

“You were smaller, then. Wore blue like a robin’s egg.” Geralt recalled.

Bemused Jasker answered, “Well, yes. I was a bard and performer. You don’t perform in _dark colours_ Geralt.”

“Smaller?” Asked Coen.

“I bulked up. Sword play and wars tend to do that for one’s physique.” He’d puffed out his chest.

The Witchers in the room chuckled, “Indeed, swordplay tends to make one’s _physique_ larger.”

“If that’s it, I’d like to go back to bed. We’ve got two more days of this competition rubbish, then actual preparation for the ball. I need all the sleep I can get before that starts up.” Lambert chimed.

“Yes, yes. That was all. Thank you all for enlightening me. I’ll be able to take action now, properly.”

As the others filed out of the room Geralt paused, “Properly?”

“Rumours can tear down empires Geralt. Or worse. I won’t let this one harm another Witcher.”

“I liked the blue Jaskier. It’s nicer than the darker colours you wear.”

“Would you dance with me at the ball if I did?” He teased.

Smiling Geralt turned to leave the room, “And then some.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt's immediate thoughts after leaving the room _Fuck, fuck fuck, why did I say that?_
> 
> Hello lovelies! Hopefully everyone is being safe during these times! 
> 
> Quick question time if you're comfortable; is it morning, noon or night when you're reading this?


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come one, come all, to the Warlord's spectacular ball!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may be sluggish for a bit folks, uni is kicking it up a gear! Enjoy!!

_What the fuck?_ Was on a constant loop within Jaskier’s mind. _“And then some.”_ was also making rounds too.

Geralt, who consistently shied away from touch and sight was flirting with the _Warlord_ who he had been hunted down for. 

No, that wasn’t quite true. He wanted to flirt with Jaskier the Bard in a powder blue doublet and trousers. Wanted to dance with him. _Flirt_ with him.

The Ball, which had been suggested to him to lift moral and spirits before another push and campaign, wasn’t even his idea. _I may have to admit to Yenn that she was right._

***

The morning of the Ball Geralt awoke to a small package outside of his door. Plainly wrapped and covered in different scents. None of which were foreign to him.

There were many servants and individuals who walked the halls of the stronghold (Palace? Castle? Home?) of the Warlord. Every important individual had their own task force behind them, including Geralt. So, the smells of the servants, his ones, did not grate his senses. The package was safe if it had these smells, like his armour, clothes and room.

However, upon opening the package he changed his thoughts on ‘safe’. His staff were clearly deranged and not the kind people he thought they were. They should have left a note of warning at least.

Inside was an envelope, similar to the one he had received prior, this time though it was not addressed to ‘Geralt, Member of the Witcher Council’, but ‘The Witcher, Geralt of Rivia’. His work had been chosen amongst those who would be invited to the Ball.

Below this was turquoise cardstock, folded in half with a ribbon handle, and containing several pages. A dance card. Written inside on the first line was ‘Jaskier; First Dance’. The warlord had requested him for the opening dance of the Ball. _What the fuck?_

***

“What colour are you going to wear?” Eskel asked at an hour too early for Geralt to be fully awake and functioning.

Yawning Geralt made his reply, “What are you talking about?”

“Eskel means what colour are you wearing to the Ball. Everyone will have a signature colour, they always do.” Lambert piped in.

“Whatever colour they give me I suppose.”

Both Lambert and Eskel dropped their cutlery at that, “You mean you haven’t commissioned your clothes yet?”

“Didn’t know I had to. Everything else has just happened.”

Both his fellow Witchers looked gleefully horrified, “He hasn’t ordered his clothes three days before the Ball Lambert.”

“He expected them to just _happen_ Eskel.”

As one they turned on him, “None of your clothes you wear were commissioned by you?” 

“No.”

“None?”

“Not a single one. Jaskier or someone else had them made for me. Continues to do so as well.”

“Eskel,” Lambert whacked his brother-in-arms, “The warlord is Geralt’s _benefactor_.”

“A most _generous_ benefactor if I say so myself.”

“Shove off it, what do I need to do?”

Eskel sighed as though Geralt was an errant child, “What you need to do is have ordered your clothes when the Ball was announced.”

“I can just wear –“ 

Simultaneously they yelled, “NO!”

***

Shame faced Geralt took his brothers’ advice and went to Coen to ask for assistance. The Griffon had contacts within the tailoring circle and assisted in the ordering of his clothes. 

That was, until they received a polite message from a page informing them that Geralt’s clothes had already been made up for him and would arrive on the day of the Ball.

“Benefactor, I must say.” Coen huffed.

***

After lunch Geralt arrived to see that his rooms were blocked by chests, supposedly containing his clothes for the Ball.

“What colour did he choose?” Geralt mused aloud.

Black, that’s the colour that Jaskier chose. With a golden undertone to give it a sheen, not unlike that of dragon scales.

A pair of tasteful high waisted trousers, with golden stitching, accompanied by a matching black doublet with golden embroidered wolves’ heads on the collar. A silken gold undershirt has also been added.

When he called for assistance in dressing in the clothes it wasn’t because of the clothes themselves, but the way in which the added golden chains and jewellery were meant to be placed. To complete the outfit a golden earpiece remains. A miniature wolf to curl around the back and top of his right ear.

The gasps and titters he heard as they assisted him let him know of their worth. Such a worth which Geralt could never afford, but a warlord could.

***

“I thought I advised _against_ the gold threading and embellishments?” 

“Yennefer, always a delight to see you,” Turning Jaskier saw that she was accompanied by Triss “And your better half, Triss.”

The sorceresses had started a tentative relationship within the few months they’d been in Harmonia. Time spent on the Thirds Council and in assisting Jaskier built up. And quite explosively resolved itself.

Glances turned into stares, touching into kisses. It grew so much that Jaskier had been waiting for them to announce a courtship. It wasn’t until he walked in on them in Triss’ work rooms that they told him. _Told_ being the key distinction, _not_ admitted. Admission implies guilt, that something was kept away from another. He knew he had no right into the inner workings of their relationship, their own friendships be damned. No one was entitled to their private life, and the warlord punished those who said otherwise.

A queen had commented on their closeness after the workroom debacle ( _“May I offer my congratulations, both on your relationship, whatever it may be, and on how flexible you both appear. Triss I’d like to speak with you when you’re done, have a lovely day ladies.”_ Had been the only thing Jaskier could get out, before he closed the door, retreated to his rooms and yelled with joy). She spoke about their loyalty, or perhaps lack of it now, to Jaskier, with them in the room. The sneer on her face and the tone of her voice set off every soldier, courtier and friend of Jaskier’s and the sorceresses in the room.

The queen made it out with her life, but not her tongue. At the time.

When both his First and Second came to him to assure him that they were loyal to Harmonia and Jaskier, worried that he didn’t already _know_ that, the warlord went back. It was the first instance of a double conquering. The people were left unharmed and relocated, the lands repurposed, being remade into a second Harmonia of sorts. This would be where Jaskier’s soldiers, some of them, would retire to.

“Stop writing poems and epics in your mind Jaskier, focus. I thought I advised against the gold.”

Looking into her eyes Jaskier smiled, “I know. Still, it’s my gift to Geralt, and I think it will go stunningly against my turquoise.”

At the mention of the turquoise outfit Jaskier had hastily ordered the sorceresses laughed. “Yes, _turquoise_. Rhiannon will murder you for that eventually you understand. Changing your order at the last minute, _then_ ordering Geralt’s clothes on top of that. For shame warlord, we will attend your funeral though.”  
“He likes me in blue.” _Wrong move, I sounded defensive._

Like the predator she was Yenn latched onto his words, “Making choices to appeal to the Wolf, are we? What happened to being friends?”

“We are friends,” Yenn and Jaskier were circling the room across from each other now. “I happen to want to look nice for my guest.” _‘My’? Where did that come from?_

“You’re guest? He’s a Witcher and was invited as part of the council.”

Seeing an out Jaskier took it, “Of course. He did win a Witcher spot though with the report though. So, he is my guest, as they all are.” _Nailed it._

“What colour is his dance card?” Triss asked, smile on her face. _Or not._

“I heard that it was turquoise, and that the warlords was black and gold.” Yennefer could scent the blood in the water.

“There’s no crime in matching with a friend.”

“Who are you opening the dance with?” 

“No one of concern to you.”

“Geralt then, Triss how have the dance lessons with Jaskier’s Wolf been going?”

“Well enough that he won’t bruise the warlord’s toes.”

“Perfect.”

***

Rhiannon was going to kill a man. Several in fact. 

Firstly, there was the warlord, who had originally ordered a tasteful red ensemble for the Ball. Then had changed his mind on the whim of whomever he was courting, to _turquoise_. The same outfit needed to be reproduced, because Rhiannon was _not_ just changing the colour of the red one. 

She’d single handily created two of the same ensembles for the warlord, one in a vibrant red, and the other in a more vibrant turquoise.

Then there was the possibility of murdering Geralt of Rivia, who had attempted, with Coen, to order clothing too near the Ball’s opening to be feasible. He didn’t make demands for outrageous colours or stitching or designs. The warlord on his behalf did though.

Black. A true inky black was what the warlord wanted. Which was extremely hard to get unless one had the black blood of monsters. She’d pulled aside a Cat and a Koala for that job, both females took the contract with grins and promises for clothing in the future. (She’s purposefully chosen those two, knowing their favoured ensembles and colours, knowing they could be bought with clothes in the future)

They’d quickly returned with enough for several ensembles, with the condition that the black only be used for Witchers at the current time.

It wasn’t a secret, but each faction of the citadel favoured colour schemes or styles. As it was the Witchers didn’t have one yet. Black would suit nicely for them should they wish to claim it so.

“You’re clothing is ready if you wish to take it now.”

Almost sleepily the Koala smiled at her, “Thank you, will we be seeing you at the Ball?”

“Oh, yes. Personally, invited by the Warlord himself.”

“That’s great!” Burst the Cat, the more sociable of the two. “Now please remember,” The glint in her eyes said she had _better_ remember. “Save the black for Witchers if possible, or the songbird. Wasn’t easy getting it.” Somehow, from the wink she gave at the end, Rhiannon doubted that the Cat and Koala had struggled with the contract.

Despite the warning and other requests for black she did keep her word, the black was used only for detailing for the Witchers who had approached her, and for Geralt’s ensemble. Which she was going to murder the warlord for requesting in the first place.

Then there were the other two Wolves who were dancing around each other. Not much was known about the Witcher courting, but surely, they were taking things to an extreme.

They each chose the design and colour of the others clothing for the Ball. The only advice they’d asked for was to make sure they chose different and complementary clothing.

There was a delightfully tightfitting deep red set for Lambert and a gorgeous loose cut, dark purple set, with a red undertone for Eskel. They’d both chosen for red for stitching and embroidery.

Together they would look quite dashing, and she would enjoy their own joy, if they hadn’t made such a fuss over the details of the clothes. Usually she’d be given the fabric choice and some pointers and let loose. The Wolves however needed to stick their noses into every choice she made for the clothing.

Four potential murders and so many opportunities to do them at the Ball. Or, she could make sure to stick them a few more times during their next measuring session.

***

Looking downright villainous and beautiful Yennefer stormed into Jaskiers rooms. “Stop checking for grey hairs and hurry up, you’ve got to open the Ball.”

“I was _not_ looking for grey hairs –“

“Crow’s feet then.”

“Why are we friends again?”

Shushing him she pulled him from his rooms, “You wouldn’t know what to do without me.”

“’Course not, I just survived a few decades by myself and raised an empire. But that was just coincidence, no?”

“Glad you know you’re hopeless without me songbird.”

***

Geralt was a vision in black and gold. His hair had been trimmed so as to have some uniformity. The chains and jewellery that Jaskier had asked for looked wonderful as well. Rather than constricting bracelets or anklets he’d chosen loose body chains that were delicate enough to snap.

“I believe I have your first dance Jaskier.”

“As well as the last, if you check your dance card.” Said dance card was secured to the Witchers trousers for easy access to the card.

“Indeed, you do. Let’s show Triss that her lessons were not in vain.”

***

Triss could say that the stubbed toes, pinched fingers and sore back were well worth it. Both Jaskier and Geralt glided across the floor, a stunning visage of turquoise, gold and black. 

Jaskier allowed Geralt to lead the dance, not commenting on Geralt sometimes needing to look at his feet, or when Geralt used too much strength.

Together they looked complete.

***

“You’re doing great.”

“I’ve stepped on your toes three times already.” He grunted, looking down during the twirl, usually when he would accidentally step wrong and injure himself or Triss.

His partner laughed into the twirl, “I’m having a ball of a time Geralt, don’t worry.”

As much as he wanted to pause, to stop and look at the man in his arms, Geralt continued through the steps, “Was that a pun?”

“Dragging the chain on that one, was I?”

“Please stop.” To ensure that he did he pulled Jaskier into an early twirl.

“Alright, alright. Honestly Geralt, you’re doing well. I’m enjoying our promised dance.” Jaskier’s eyes were so blue. So vibrant when he smiled.

***

“How many people have you got written down?” 

Eskel turned to his partner, “Too many, but my first and last are with you.”

“Good.”

Purring into Lamberts ear, Eskel smiled, “You look lovely tonight.” His grin widened when he saw the red tips of said ear.

“You do as well. Quite… ravishing.” 

“I can show you ravishing later on.”

At this, Lambert pushed Eskel backwards, “Yes, you can. But no more talk of it or you won’t get to do any of those dances.”

***

After the initial dance with Geralt, the rest of the night seemed to be filled with endless dancing and small talk. Surprisingly he did get to meet the sylvan of the awful beads and feathers. Not surprisingly his eyes were assaulted by the clashing of colours, bright reds, lime greens and a violent purple stood out.

Though he had a seemingly endless parade of dances to get through he led the rest. Only to Geralt would he surrender something of himself. 

Throughout the night he kept his eyes on Geralt, saw him meet with several other Witchers, reunite with some he’d met on the Path. Memorably, he’d seen when Geralt had met the resident Koala, a rarity amongst Witchers, and taken a shot of what she’d had in her hand.

Jaskier did not know what the drink contained but seeing the delight on Geralt’s face he resigned himself to talking to the lax Koala to find out.

***

His second last dance was with a Viper of the Witcher council, Suasti, who continually reassured Jaskier that the Witcher’s knew he wasn’t behind any attacks. Suasti looked resplendent in a green and yellow set with black stitching, Witcher pendent placed over their clothes.

Bidding Jaskier goodbye, Suasti gave the advice, “You have not muzzled or collared him Warlord, you have made him a home. Now, give him some belly rubs and call it a night.”

“Belly rubs? Might I raincheck for a shoulder one instead?” 

Swiftly turning the warlord saw that the mentioned Wolf was behind him, prepared for their dance, “Geralt! Last dance I see.” 

“Still mine I hope?”

“Yours, and then some.” _And not just for a dance._

“MY LORD!” The yell shattered the happy aura of the ballroom. “My lord, Nilfgaardians are approaching the southern border.”

Turning and taking stock of those in the room Jaskier made the announcement; “Everyone please continue, guards with me.” 

Before he made way to sweep from the room Jaskier bent over Geralt’s hand, kissed it, then left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU!! To EVERYONE who commented on the last chapter!! IT delights me that there was no conceivable pattern to when you all were reading!
> 
> I was considering starting a Tumblr or Discord for people to put forward idea's or requests and wanted to know if anyone thinks that that would be a good idea?? If not we can just ignore that I ever brought it up ;)
> 
> But PLEASE let me know! I enjoy any requests or suggestions <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What type of force are we anticipating?” Was the first question that Jaskier directed to his men. “Invasion, siege, diplomatic?”
> 
> “Invasion my Lord, a full-scale siege of Harmonia if they wish.” _But we haven’t been far south enough to warrant this yet._ Was the unspoken thought that went through the minds of those in the room.
> 
> “We haven’t encroached on any Nilfgaardian lands, have we? I thought that we were avoiding their settlements and lands.”
> 
> A younger female, who had been an upstart within his ranks approached the table that Jaskier was overlooking, scouring the maps; “No my Lord. We’ve avoided them well enough. There are no forces stationed around their lands. The only reason we know of their approach is due to some re-settled citizens warning us.”
> 
> Unease rippled through the room, relying upon the re-settled members of Harmonia was worrisome. They’d been spread far and wide to avoid recapture or discovery. They generally were well within the Warlord’s territory as well. That meant that Nilfgaard was already _within_ his lands and knew enough to avoid patrols and his own settlements. 
> 
> _There’s a traitor amongst us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Please note the change in warnings for the fic!
> 
> When I release the next chapter there will be updates to the tags and warnings again, so please be aware that as the fic is wrapping up additional tags and warnings will appear.

“What type of force are we anticipating?” Was the first question that Jaskier directed to his men. “Invasion, siege, diplomatic?”

“Invasion my Lord, a full-scale siege of Harmonia if they wish.” _But we haven’t been far south enough to warrant this yet._ Was the unspoken thought that went through the minds of those in the room.

“We haven’t encroached on any Nilfgaardian lands, have we? I thought that we were avoiding their settlements and lands.”

A younger female, who had been an upstart within his ranks approached the table that Jaskier was overlooking, scouring the maps; “No my Lord. We’ve avoided them well enough. There are no forces stationed around their lands. The only reason we know of their approach is due to some re-settled citizens warning us.”

Unease rippled through the room, relying upon the re-settled members of Harmonia was worrisome. They’d been spread far and wide to avoid recapture or discovery. They generally were well within the Warlord’s territory as well. That meant that Nilfgaard was already _within_ his lands and knew enough to avoid patrols and his own settlements. 

_There’s a traitor amongst us._

***

There were several choice words that Lambert would choose to describe the Ball. They could also be used for the different stages of the Ball.

Stage 1: Pre-Dancing would be described as _delicious_. Seeing Eskel in the clothes that he’d picked and commissioned for his fellow Witcher was a stunning sight for Lambert. The draping of the material highlighted and accentuated everything that Lambert wished to see, that is to say, everything.

Stage 2: Dancing. This stage was the hardest to describe, though Lambert did enjoy his dances with Eskel, Geralt and a few of others, the long periods of separation from Eskel were not enjoyable. Growling at one’s allies who you needed to be on good terms with did not encourage a good mood for Lambert, especially with the amount of touching they did.

Stage 3: Post-Declaration, perhaps the easiest to quantify; devastating. After the announcement everyone within the ballroom went into crisis mode, despite the songbird’s words of assurance. Immediately the music stopped, and everyone vacated as though Nilfgaard was at the gates ready to attack. 

Eskel pulled away from his embrace. Left to change from his purple robes and into the armour of Wolves.

( _”No Geralt, I am not shitting on the Ball because of – I’ll show_ you _blue balls, which I DON’T HAVE.”_ )

***

The advance rider arrived the next day, politely waiting outside of Harmonia in resplendent black armour. Within the hour, the very early hour, Jaskier, his Thirds, their extended councils and his main command team were assembled to meet the rider.

“Warlord Jaskier, I thank you for taking the time to meet with me.” His bow was deep and respectful.

The usual fluttering of hands and jovial nature of the Warlords meetings would not suffice in a meeting with Nilfgaard. So Jaskier had donned his more intimidating armour set, and not smiled for a good hour. “Of course, we take our relations with Nilfgaard very seriously. Might we get into the reason why your Emperors forces are here, or is there a need for more pleasantries first?”

“The matter of why we are here pertains to one of your Witchers, Warlord Jaskier.”

Any man would cower at the shifting that said Witchers did at the declaration that they were owned by Jaskier. And cower the rider did.

“Please excuse me, my Redanian upbringing may have hindered my court etiquette,” It had not, “but I thought that the idea of ownership of one’s person was frowned upon in polite society. I had thought that Nilfgaard was the epitome of polite society, or is it perhaps that you believe us _not_ of sufficient standing?”

Word play was a bard’s currency and livelihood, if the rider wanted to play at being a master let him stumble into the maze that was bardic prose and word play.

“Nilfgaard holds yourself in quite high regard for someone not of our lands, however, we were under the impression that those delivered to your citadel were spoils of hunts. If they are not, perhaps it is not the fault of those telling tales, but the origin for the passing of mistruths.”

Jaskier was leaning more forward on his throne, staring down the rider, “I cannot speak for the intent of those who deliver my citizens to me, nor should I. Though I confess surprise that any from Nilfgaard would take the word of malcontent from those conquered to be anything but the noise of buzzards wanting of a new meal.”

“Reliable sources spoke of the way in which the Warlord of Redania treated those within his citadel, and as reputable hosts we were inclined to believe them.”

“That any source but the origin is to be believed is a source of great concern to me, especially when we have working relationship between our empires. Your Emperor should consider himself of necessary importance and contact me directly should there be concerns he has, as we are of equal land and armed mass. We are two great and burgeoning empires, we should not squabble over what the buzzards say, but what is actually occurring.” _Snap._

“I am a forward rider Warlord –“ _Too late for protests, you stuck you foot in the bear trap, you need to choose whether to gnaw it off or walk home with it._

“Yes, I am aware. You have also yet to state why you are here, in _advance_ of the Nilfgaardian armada.”

 _Walk home with it it seems._ “The Emperor Emhyr requests that Geralt of Rivia be surrendered for his crimes against Nilfgaard, pertaining to his heir Cirilla.” _Snap._

Jaskier could hear the sound of the trap under him go off, as well as the ones placed under all those in Harmonia.

_To gnaw it off or to walk home with it?_

***

A quick recess was called, all but the rider stayed in the throne room. “Why is Emhyr var Emreis accusing you of crimes against his heir, Geralt?”

“In Cintra a few years passed I helped him, chose the Law of Surprise.”

Suasti spoke up, “You have a claim to her as he does, and he needs her to be his heir.”

Outraged the Witchers in the room protested, “It’s the Law of Surprise!”, “He count not have known!”, “It’s the way things are always done!”

“Yenn, what can we do?” She’d been alive longer than he and had served more cunning kings and lords as well. The advice that Yennefer could give would be paramount to the survival of Harmonia.

“Right now, I can see three options,” The room stilled when she spoke, “One, we give Geralt over to Emhyr,” Outcries arose, “Shut it, all of you. We give Geralt over. Two, you challenge Emhyr for the honour of Geralt, one to one with representatives. Three, allow the siege to happen and see if we or Nilfgaard are stronger.”

“There’s a fourth option,” A female cat approached Jaskier. “Allow the White Wolf to leave Harmonia, we no longer have protection rights over him, and set Nilfgaard on a merry chase.”

 _Yeah, no._ “I appreciate the option, however the second of Yenn’s is what I’d prefer. No putting anyone at another’s mercy.”

At this both Eskel and Lambert came forward, “Geralt is in no condition to fight yet, you can’t expect him to –“

“Of course, he won’t. As Yenn said, there will be representatives. I’ll represent Geralt, unless he’d prefer another, thought if Emhyr himself chooses to fight they may request that I be the combatant anyways.”

Turning to the guards by the door he waved for them to allow the rider back in.

***

There had been a few members of his courts and staff that protested to his idea. Chief amongst them was an old friend, Neid, a maid who had followed Jaskier from his home in Redania. She’d spoken that the Cat’s idea was one that would suit Harmonia.

Being that she’d been by his side for the greater part of two decades Jaskier did not fault her her worry for him. However, he did tell her firmly not to protest again.

*** 

It was a few days later when the rider returned; with the retinue of Nilfgaardian soldiers behind him. With him came the announcement that Emhyr of Nilfgaard had chosen to face Jaskier himself. Any weapons they chose, no outside help, until one or the other yielded.

Geralt had a lot to say about the matter. 

“You’re not doing it. Not for me.”

“Bit late for that Geralt, I’ve even got my finest pearls on.” They were in a tent set up to the side of the battleground. The Witcher having stormed in whilst Jaskier dressed for his upcoming fight. “Emhyr chose me as well, or did you forget?”

“You could be hurt.”

“Woe is I, the Warlord, for the possibility of harming myself. Geralt, even if I am, I can concede at any point. Though I won’t.” _Because I do this for you._

At these words Geralt stepped closer to Jaskier, “Jaskier, _please_ listen to me. I can’t have you getting hurt for me. There’s the fourth option Jaskier, I can-”

“Geralt, please don’t leave in some odd attempt to save me from a few scratches. We’ll get this over with, Emhyr can march back home, and you and I can poke fun at Lambert and Eskel.”

“I’d rather they poke fun at _us_.”

Rather ungracefully, the squire assisting Jaskier dropped his shin guards, Jaskier didn’t notice though because he turned to face Geralt, heart in his throat and blood in his cheeks.

“Geralt, you-”

The Witcher didn’t look at Jaskier, seemingly interested in the mats laid out within the tent. “I know what I said, and that I enjoyed the Ball with you. I want more of that, even if my brothers jest at our expense.”

Jaskier approached Geralt slowly, and lifted his head to face him, gently, a caress against his face. “As would I. You know, traditionally for those courting, the viewer would gift the fighter a token for luck.”

A pinched look once again overtook Geralt’s face, “You believe you need luck? Jaskier.”

“No, no.” He moved closer to Geralt, softening his tone. “I would like one though, if you could part with something.”

_A kiss, please Geralt. I could go for a thousand leagues for one single kiss from you._

The pinched look was replaced with a thoughtful one, when Geralt moved away Jaskier wanted to protest. “Alright,” with that he prised off the Wolf medallion set within his armour and tucked it into Jaskier’s hand, holding both hand and medallion within his own. “When I have the real thing consider it yours as well. This one is temporary.”

_Consistently surprising me._

“And this then should be for you.” He croaked out, slipping off his signet ring. As Warlord he had multiple, some for himself, those who were able to speak on his behalf. “It’s temporary though, until I can give you your own.”

“My Lord,” Interrupted the squire. “It’s near the hour, we must prepare you for the fight.”

“I should leave,” Commented Geralt, holding onto Jaskiers hands.

“Indeed,” Jaskier agreed, not letting go either.

***

Both Eskel and Lambert took one look at Geralt, the ring he clutched for his fingers were too large, and Eskel handed him a leather lace to string it around his neck.

The ring rested where his missing Wolf medallion would be. Over his heart.

***

Before the battle begun Jaskier’s personal maid came to pull Geralt away from the crowd. Neid was a familiar face, where Jaskier was, usually Neid or her team weren’t far behind. Somewhat shyly she’d come toward himself and his brothers and requested Geralt to follow her.

“You’ll be back before it begins.”

Without a second thought Geralt had followed.

***

Since the inception of Harmonia Jaskier had been sparring with mages, Witchers and other species much more dangerous than mere humans. Emhyr var Emreis however was not a mere human. Everyone on the continent had heard of the brains of the Emperor, how he’d spearheaded several of his campaigns. There was not a single move that he made that was not calculated.

Similar to Yennefer.

Admittedly Jaskier had been running through the motions, dazed at the medallion he’d asked to be strung around his neck. So, he had not noticed the full-frontal barrage that was oncoming until he’d nearly been sliced in half.

“Not nearly as graceful as the reports lead me to believe.” Emhyr commented, looking at Jaskier try to recover from his dodge.

Unwilling to dignify the older man with an answer Jaskier thrust his sword upward toward Emhyr’s neck, point first. Emhyr himself needed to hurriedly sidestep the attack and parry. 

It was similar to the spars that Jaskier had with Yennefer and the Cats, always three steps ahead and planning on where to decorate your head on a spike. Unlike them though, Emhyr used a larger and longer broadsword, which proved harder to get around than the smaller more agile knives and swords. 

Though Emhyr was skilled, Jaskier was as well, and he’d also had a more varied history in his fights. Within short order Jaskier had disarmed the Emperor and forced him to yield.

“Geralt will not be leaving with you, and you will disabuse yourself of the notion as well. He had no designs on your daughter and never will.”

“Agreed, as long as he vows to stay away from Cirilla he will come to no harm from me.”

Then came the cry that severed broke Jaskier, heart and soul; “GERALT OF RIVIA IS DEAD!” 

*** 

Several guards had found the body of Geralt of Rivia, hidden away in the storage closet used by the cooks. Though bludgeoned and heavily battered the white hair and bulk of the body could be no other. His face had also been branded with the mark of a traitor. The body was similar to how Geralt had arrived, stripped, bloody and beaten.

Even if it wasn’t by a sight indicator, the looks of horror and loss on the Witcher’s faces when they were brought to identify the body were enough. According to them the body has Geralt’s distinct smell.

Everyone mourned the death of Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier especially. He was inconsolable as he searched for Geralt’s murderer, who had left no clues or indicators to their identity. No one could figure anything out from the body or the scene. 

The Nilfgaardians had been excused if only for the fact that they’d all been accounted for during the tournament between Emhyr and Jaskier. They’d left soon after.

Inconsolable and with nothing to direct his energy toward, the Warlord turned his efforts to the battlefronts. Taking more territory and enforcing more heavily the protection of all, especially those within Harmonia. 

***

Neid could keep a secret and keep it well. No one remembered how it had been she who had called away the Witcher from the tournament. No one remembered her at all, she’d been stripped from their minds for the day. Her actions during the hour of the tournament not notable to any that wasn’t her, Geralt of Rivia or the man who took him away.

The fact that her life hung in the balance, if she could not keep the secret, was also a factor that kept her mouth shut. Kept it shut during the days and nights that Jaskier wallowed and drifted farther from her. 

Despite the sight of the body being abhorrent for those who loved him to see, they had put stasis spells on the body. The two brothers visited most often, seemingly reminding themselves of the sight, then searching for something to explain the corpse. Jaskier refused to visit it. Mages came in droves to try and help.

Time was running out; the body would not remain in its current form for much longer. After all, it was not the body of Geralt of Rivia, but that of his would-be killer under a glamour. Where the White Wolf now trod was far more dangerous than the knife to the gut that Neid had planned for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave your theories and frustrations in the comments!!
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome ;)

**Author's Note:**

> QUESTION TIME WITH MU2: You get to speak to one of the Witcher characters, who do you wanna talk to????


End file.
